The Most Dangerous Game
by Evie Fuller
Summary: He made her a promise, a promise to bring the Capitol to its knees, a promise to kill President Snow and end the tyranny. No matter how long it takes.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"Come on, come on, breathe dammit!" Katniss whispers harshly as she continues the chest compressions. Despite the panic constricting her chest, her movements remain precise and steady. She can't afford to break down yet. If she caves to her emotions, she'll lose him.

"You are not going to die like this! Not now," she gasps, breathe hitching on a sob. "You promised! You promised. You can't leave me. Please. Please live. You can't leave me."

Still he lays there, unmoving on the jungle floor, his beautiful bronze hair slightly singed from a collision with the force field which encloses the arena of the 75th Annual Hunger Games. Distantly she notes that death suites him, his face relaxed and peaceful in a way it never was in life, not even when he slept. His eyes remain closed, and despair grips her at the thought of never seeing his deep green orbs light up with laughter or darken in desire again. Abruptly, a wave of grief and anger overwhelm her, and she brings her fist down hard over his heart.

Finnick shoots awake, gasping for air before rolling weakly onto his side and coughing harshly. Moaning slightly, he rasps, "Why do I feel like I just died?"

"You did just die!" Katniss responds hysterically. "You walked straight into the force field! You weren't breathing; I couldn't—"

"I walked into the force field? That's how I almost went out?" He questions, a dismayed look on his face. "How anticlimactic."

"Finnick!" She yells, steal grey eyes somehow managing to flash threateningly despite the tears rolling down her cheeks. "Stop it. Stop joking. You almost died," she finishes with a choked whisper.

"And you saved me," he replies solemnly. Then a mischievous look crosses his face, and with an air of nonchalance that Katniss can tell he doesn't truly feel, he tips his head back to stare up at the leafy canopy hanging over them and comments, "Shame I wasn't awake for the mouth-to-mouth part of it though. Hate to have missed that." He grins slyly and glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "Perhaps a repeat? Just to make sure I'm actually breathing right of course."

"Ridiculous man!" Katniss exclaims with a shaky laugh before leaning down to gently press her lips to his. How Finnick can still sound charming when he is wheezing around a sternum that is at the very least deeply bruised, Katniss will never understand. She supposes she should give him extra points for still managing to look attractive when half of his hair is burnt though. "Stay alive. You made me a promise, and you're damn well going to keep it."

Pulling away slightly, Finnick releases a low chuckle that vibrates through her body and mumbles a soft "yes mam" against her lips.

They have a revolution to launch, a rebellion they have been covertly working towards for nearly a decade. The first spark of the uprising had been lit eight years ago when Katniss had volunteered to save her then twelve-year-old sister Prim, and it had ignited into a raging inferno when little twelve-year-old Rue from District Eleven sacrificed herself to guarantee Peeta Melark's victory last year in the 74th Hunger Games.

Nearly a decade ago Finnick had stood beside her on a balcony overlooking the president's rose garden and promised her that they would bring the capitol to its knees, that they would kill President Snow and end the tyranny. Now, they are finally ready. They just have to survive this Quarter Quell until they are rescued by their District Thirteen allies, and ensure that when that hovercraft comes, Peeta Mellark escapes with them.

 **Disclaimer: The Hunger Games series and all recognizable characters are the intellectual property of Suzanne Collins. This statement stands for this entire story.**


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

A strange euphoria settles over her as she stares down at the dead body of the monstrous girl from District Two. It is a gruesome scene. For all the viciousness and obvious strength the girl had displayed in life, in death she lay like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Strands of her short brown hair clump together with the sticky blood that slowly leaks around the arrow stuck in her right eye, and her head hangs at a grotesquely awkward angle over her slumped back.

They are in a beautiful valley, surrounded on three sides by tall, green trees, and rising from the center of the clearing stands the gleaming silver structure of the Cornucopia, a jarring reminder that this place is not natural. Mockingjays swoop through the clear sky singing a lullaby from Katniss's home district. She finds the song oddly appropriate. Small flowers dot the grass, and the dead tribute's blood stains the white blooms around her head crimson. In that moment, Katniss thinks the girl from District Two must be the most horribly beautiful thing she has ever seen.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, this concludes the 67th Annual Hunger Games! I present to you your victor, from District Twelve, Katniss Everdeen!" The infamous voice of Claudius Templesmith echoes eerily around the now-empty Cornucopia.

Hearing her name at the end of that sentence, announcing to the world that she will live, that she survived what had been an almost inevitable death sentence, Katniss cannot help the laugh that escapes her throat. She's done it! She won, and soon she will be home again with her sister. Relief washes over her like a tidal wave. The firm grip on her bow slackens, and Katniss drops to her knees on suddenly weak legs, her laugh growing louder.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Katniss recognizes that she must look like a complete psycho, but the thought only manages to exacerbate her crazed giggling.

A loud whirring noise draws her attention, and Katniss looks up to see a hovercraft descending into the arena. It lands smoothly twenty yards from the newest victor and the corpse of her final opponent. The rear hatch opens with a hiss, revealing ten seemingly genderless guards decked out in full peacekeeper uniforms, complete with guns.

For a moment, Katniss does not understand the reason for the firearms. Then she remembers the victor from six years ago who snapped and tried to murder the peacekeepers with a machete when they came to collect him. She supposes the footage of that boy chopping a peacekeeper's arm off had unsettled the "peace corps," as this batch is obviously not taking any chances.

"Happy Hunger Games!" Katniss yells out, laughing when the faceless guards tense and raise their weapons. Three peacekeepers jog towards her and haul her roughly to her feet while another four move to collect the body of the girl from District Two. The three men who have remained by the hovercraft keep the sights of their guns trained on her, wary of a potential attack. Though all things considered, Katniss is not sure what kind of damage they can honestly believe her capable of wreaking. She is half-starved, and both of her arms are securely restrained in the grip of a peacekeeper.

As she is dragged stumbling through the door of the hovercraft, the new victor leans past the guard holding her right arm to stare into the covered eyes of one of the peacekeepers still pointing a firearm at her. "And may the odds be ever in your favor," she whispers. The man twitches oddly in an aborted flinch away from her, and Katniss grins, pleased to have unnerved the masked representative of the Capitol.

Soon she will have to stand before all of Panem and smile as though some fundamental part of her hasn't died with the other twenty-three tributes in this arena, but for now, in this moment, she is free to display just how unbalanced, how truly broken, she feels. No one is here to judge her except for these ten faceless peacekeepers, and dressed as they are in their uniforms, they may as well not even be humans. They are just machines. Just robots sent to take her away from this graveyard.

* * *

Nearly three days pass before her doctors, and more importantly, her prep-team, deem her fit to appear in public. In that time, Katniss's body has been plucked until she is once again hairless, sprayed with a chemical that makes her skin shimmer subtly, and polished with something Flavius calls a microderm treatment, which burns horribly but leaves her skin feeling smoother than the silk sheets on her bed in the training center. The doctors have healed the numerous cuts and bruises which littered her body, and they have somehow managed to give her back enough weight to make her appear more human than skeleton—the wonders of Capitol medicine.

Obviously "Beauty-Base Zero" must be set to a much higher standard for a victor than it is for a tribute, because Katniss didn't have to endure having glitter sprayed on her skin last time. It's almost enough to make her long for the prep she'd undergone before the Tributes' Parade, where all she'd had to worry about was the fact that Cinna was planning to set her on fire.

Now she's dressed in a gown reminiscent of a candle's flickering flame. Soft gold and red highlights her cheeks, contrasting with her grey eyes and making them appear darker, like smoldering pieces of coal. She's the Girl-on-Fire once more, though her light has dimmed.

She hears Caesar Flickerman announce her, and the crowd of Capitol citizens roars with approval when he claims her as their darling. It makes her feel sick.

Gritting her teeth, Katniss walks onto the stage with a small smile plastered on her face and waves at her adoring fans. To the vapid Capitolites, she appears happy, if somewhat overwhelmed by their love for her. They adore her all the more for her quaint sentiments.

"And here she is ladies and gentlemen! Katniss Everdeen! And my, don't you look lovely Katniss." Caesar exclaims as he embraces her in an enthusiastic hug. He turns her to face the crowd, keeping one arm wrapped around her waist, and enthuses, "Doesn't she look beautiful everyone?"

The audience thunders its appreciation once more, and Katniss utters a quiet "thank you" which the mikes easily pick up, projecting her voice around the massive amphitheater.

Caesar seats her in a comfortable armchair, his gold sparkled red lips stretched into the widest smile Katniss has ever seen, and winks at the camera. In honor of their newest victor, the Capitol has elected to build the piece of furniture in the shape of a flame, and, apparently deciding that was not dramatic enough, they have covered the chair in more of Cinna's fake flames, making it appear as though Katniss is languishing inside a bonfire.

Looking out towards the crowd, Katniss realizes that it is not just her seat that has been inspired by her Girl-on-Fire moniker. The entire stage has been transformed to look like a bed of slowly burning coals, and the columns on each side of the stage appear to be made of molten rock. Even the members of the audience are following the trend, her numerous admirers decked out in every shade of red, orange, and yellow in the rainbow. They look like a sea of fire, and Katniss briefly wonders if she died in the arena after all, and this is Hell.

Then Caesar is talking to her, bringing her out of her imaginings and back to the present. "So, Katniss, tell me. Now that you are a victor, how are you feeling?"

"Alive," Katniss responds. She didn't mean it as a joke, but the spectators laugh loudly anyways.

"That you are my dear," Caesar grins. "And I must say, you certainly picked a very sneaky means of survival. Very effective." He turns to address the audience and exclaims, "Wasn't she brilliant?" And the crowd bursts into applause, enthusiastically displaying their approval of her violent streak.

"You, Katniss, are the third most prolific hunter in Hunger Games history! Eleven confirmed kills!" Caesar leans in closer, as if he is trying to invite her to share a secret, and says softly, "Tell me, were you trying to match your body count number to your training score?"

Katniss can do nothing except stare at Caesar in stunned silence. She had known how many kids she killed. Of course she knew. She didn't think she would ever be able to forget their faces. But to have the fact that only two victors have ever managed to murder more children so flippantly thrown in her face? She feels nauseous.

Fighting against the churning in her stomach, Katniss manages to grit out, "No. It wasn't planned."

"Ah well, quite the coincidence isn't it?" Caesar asks the audience slyly, and they laugh as though he has said something truly funny. Katniss doesn't understand the joke, but she smiles blandly anyways.

Caesar turns back to her and continues, "Now your little sister Prim, she must be very proud of you! Such a happy occasion it will be when you get back to Twelve. I can't wait to see the footage of your reunion!"

Prim. Katniss knows her sister cannot possibly be proud of her. The idea is ludicrous, something only someone from the Capitol could believe. Prim is everything good in the world. For God's sake, she sometimes cried for the animals Katniss shot for food! Survival of the fittest and murder are not things that fit into Prim's worldview. Katniss just hopes that watching her systematically hunt down her competition will not have changed her sister's perception of her too drastically. She has faith that Prim still loves her. Her "little duck" had begged her to try her hardest to win, so Prim had to have expected Katniss to become a killer. Her sister will still love her. Prim will forgive her. Katniss just hopes that Prim can still trust her, that Prim will trust a murderer.

Instead of voicing any of these thoughts and worries, Katniss responds to Caesar's enthusiasm with a small smile and a simple confirmation that she will be very happy to see her sister again.

"Of course you will be, and we here are all very happy for you!" Caesar pauses to wait for the cheering to die down, then proclaims, "And now, what we have all been waiting for, the highlight reel of this year's Hunger Games!"

The lights dim, and a hush falls over the crowd as the giant screen comes to life. The highlight reel always has a theme, and this year the game-makers have chosen to frame the plot as the story of a goddess of the hunt. They have painted her as a clever predator who ensnares her mortal prey in creative traps before imperiously smiting them from above.

Katniss is not sure how they have managed to transform her determined bid for survival into this tale of a merciless divine being having fun, but people who have never had to struggle just to see one more sunrise are rarely capable of recognizing true desperation in another human's eyes. These glittering Capitol citizens, with their bejeweled skin and tattooed faces, have mistaken her misery for passion.

She watches herself on screen as she camouflages her snares, outfitting them with sharpened pieces of wood and jagged rocks to ensure maximum injury for anyone unfortunate enough to stumble upon them. Most of the booby traps are also baited with food, though in order to attract the careers Katniss had set fires with lots of smoke, playing on their tendency to recklessly attack stupid tributes, and, on one memorable occasion, she had even used herself as bait. Risky, but then, what in the games isn't?

Katniss wonders what Gale thinks. She had used the traps that he taught her to catch animals on humans, used skills they had spent hours together perfecting to slaughter kids. He will understand, she assures herself. After all, he's had to fight for his life before too. Not in the same way of course; nobody had gotten hurt then. But still, he knows what it feels like. He has to understand.

Unlike the new victor, the audience is enthralled by the story, crying out in fear when she is nearly killed and cheering in victory when she fells her competition. Meanwhile, it is all Katniss can do to stay seated and not sprint off the stage in search of a high place to hide.

She nearly slumps with relief when the final scene plays out and Claudius Templesmith's voice once more declares her the victor of the 67th Hunger Games. The lights brighten, and Caesar is suddenly grinning at the cameras again.

"Wasn't that thrilling!" He calls out, and the crowd jumps to their feet in a standing ovation. Katniss wishes, for what feels like the hundredth time since she stepped foot on this stage, that she had a weapon concealed within the folds of her dress. Surely possessing a nice, sharp dagger to threaten Caesar every time he says something callous would calm her down. She makes a mental note to mention the idea to Cinna—a knife for every outfit. Effie will be thrilled.

Caesar moves towards her and extends his hand to help her to her feet before leading her to stand at the front of the stage.

"Now a special treat everyone. To honor Miss Everdeen's exceptional performance in this year's Hunger Games, President Snow has elected to crown our newest victor himself!"

At this pronouncement, the president steps onto the stage, and moments later a blue haired young boy follows holding a flaming gold tiara.

By this point Katniss is thoroughly exasperated with the overdone fire theme, but when President Snow moves to crown her, she smiles beatifically, as though thrilled by the honor of having such an important man publicly acknowledge her. He smells strongly of metal and roses, especially when he exhales, and Katniss wonders if he has rose scented breath mints customized for him.

"Congratulations Miss Everdeen," he says, his voice a smokey baritone, "I look forward to speaking with you at the celebration later this evening." He gives the young victor a shark-like smile that sends foreboding shivers down her spine, then steps to her side and grasps her hand, thrusting their joined fists into the air in a classic victory pose.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Well isn't this fun Sweetheart? All dressed up to celebrate with all of our favorite people."

Katniss looks to her right to see a moderately sober Haymitch sipping champagne out of a fancy crystal flute. Of course, "moderately sober" is a relative term. Haymitch's eyes are bloodshot and his words are slightly slurred, but at least he's still standing.

Somehow, Katniss doesn't have much faith that he will make it longer than an hour at this party. If the fifteen-year-old thought she could get away with it, she would join her mentor and ditch this place at the earliest opportunity; but this entire event is in her honor, and this is the first time in over an hour that the new victor has not been surrounded by at least three Capitol citizens all fighting for her attention.

"Yes. Very fun," she mutters back, "You definitely look like you're enjoying yourself."

Haymitch, seeing her nod towards his flute of champagne, grins and lifts his glass in a silent toast before swallowing a large gulp of the bubbly drink. "One thing you can say... Well, one thing, you've got to hand it to the Capitol, their alcohol almost makes the trip up here worth it."

Katniss just rolls her eyes and turns back to glower at the ballroom. If she had anyone else to talk to—anyone who wouldn't either squeal her name or wax poetic about their favorite kill from this year's Hunger Games—she would walk away. As it is though, the town drunk is the most pleasant company here.

"How long do I have to stay here Haymitch?" she hisses, staring in disgust as a particularly rotund old man dressed in a skin-tight yellow jump suit stumbles into the designated vomit room. In District Twelve, surviving to old age is seen as the ultimate sign of strength, and the elderly are held in the highest regard. Here, everyone over the age of fifty is trying to pretend they are still twenty.

"Here, here?" Haymitch asks with a negligent wave of his hand, "or here, here?" he finishes, throwing both of his arms out wide and spilling half of his remaining champagne on the marble floor in the process.

If they were any less alike, Katniss is sure she wouldn't have understood his query. But since she does comprehend his nonsensical question, she copies his negligent hand wave to indicate that she is referring to the party itself and not the Capitol as a whole, and says, "Here, here."

Haymitch barks a laugh and slurs, "Unfortunately for you Sweetheart, you'll have to be here 'till the last Capitol citizen finally gets tired and leaves." At her horrified expression he continues unrepentantly, "You're the guest of honor, gotta keep your adoring fans happy! You can be charming for a few more hours, can't you?"

"You're not trying to leave us already, are you Girl-on-Fire?" a smooth voice interrupts, and Katniss turns from glaring at Haymitch to see Finnick Odair, victor of the 65th Hunger Games.

Katniss has to admit, the cameras don't do him justice. At fourteen, he already had half of Panem in love with his smile and brilliant green eyes. Now, two years later, he is even more attractive. He's grown and filled out, the softness in his face giving way to a defined jaw and high cheekbones.

"Of course not," she replies, "As my always helpful mentor was just saying, I'm here until the last guest leaves."

"Well that's good. I was so hoping to get the chance to dance with you," he smiles charmingly and gestures towards the dance floor, where dozens of couples in brightly colored outfits are twirling gracefully around one another.

Katniss eyes him speculatively, hearing Haymitch snort with poorly suppressed mirth beside her. She has no real interest in dancing, doesn't know how to honestly, but Finnick is a victor, the closest victor to her age, and despite the fact that the news frequently shows him partying in the Capitol, he is bound to be better company than any of this city's citizens. Besides, Haymitch is going to ditch her soon; she doesn't want to be left completely alone with her fans when he leaves.

"I can't dance," she admits.

Finnick's eyes light up. "I could teach you." He looks far too excited by the idea, rocking up onto the balls of his feet as he makes the offer.

"How about instead of dancing, you show me which foods on those buffet tables are good," Katniss nods towards the five long tables overflowing with enough food to feed everyone in District Twelve for the next year. Spotting the disappointed look spreading across Finnick's face, she adds, "And maybe if I like your suggestions, I'll let you teach me to dance."

"If you wanted to know which foods are good, you coulda just asked Sweetheart," Haymitch butts in. "Been coming up here for almost twenty years; I know all the good stuff."

"You think moonshine and apple juice taste good together", she deadpans. This morning over breakfast, Katniss had accidentally taken a sip of his drink. If Capitol food was any less delicious—for instance, if she had been eating Greasy Sae's dog stew or, even worse, tree bark—that sip would have ruined her appetite. Thankfully, the caramel French toast was able to wash away the cringe worthy aftertaste of Haymitch's preferred morning pick-me-up.

"So it shouldn't be too hard for me to win that dance then? If he's my competition?" Finnick asks. His chin is lifted in an arrogant pose, but his crooked smile is a clear signal that he is joking.

"Think you can beat me do you?" Haymitch laughs. "Alright boy, you're on."

"Rules?" Finnick inquires, once again bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"We each pick three dishes—"

"Only three? That's criminal! Don't be so limiting Mr. Abernathy," Finnick cuts in, mockingly scolding.

"We each pick three dishes," Haymitch continues in a louder voice, putting special emphasis on the three, "and Sweetheart picks her three favorites. Whoever gets the most picks wins."

"Well to make the judging fair, we shouldn't tell her who chose which dish," Finnick argues reasonably, then ruins his seemingly mature response by adding, "Wouldn't want to unfairly bias her against your dishes!"

"Bias her against my dishes? I'd think you should be more worried about her being biased against your picks." Haymitch argues back with all the finesse of a five-year-old.

"Please. Nobody could look at me and not think I have good taste."

At this declaration both Katniss and Haymitch stare at Finnick incredulously. He is wearing a shear, white tunic shirt and sparkly, tight orange pants.

"The outfit was my prep-team's choice," he claims defensively, and Katniss finally loses it, her thus far quiet sniggering turning into boisterous laughs.

She wonders if both of them are carrying on like this in an attempt to cheer her up, knowing firsthand how difficult it is to cope right after winning the Games, especially with all of the Capitol's hoopla getting in the way of the victor's grieving period. If so, she's extremely grateful.

Finnick flashes her a grin and reaches for her hand, tucking it into the crook of his elbow. "Allow me to escort you to the judges table?"

Katniss nods absentmindedly, wondering at the fact that they have yet to be interrupted. It is only then that she notices the other victors. Several of them have formed a loose perimeter around her, Haymitch, and Finnick, and they appear to be intercepting all of the Capitol partygoers before they can intrude. Maybe it's not just the two men beside her that she should be grateful for.

"Here we are," Finnick says, positioning her to stand before one of the buffet tables. He reaches out, and with Haymitch's help, clears an area for their food competition.

"Not sure how this is supposed to be anonymous with her standing right here," Haymitch complains.

"We could blindfold her."

"Don't get too adventurous too soon boy," Haymitch advises, and they both burst into raucous laughter.

Realizing that that must have been a joke at her expense, and that it was most likely sexual, Katniss glares at them until they are quiet. Neither man can tell if her face is red from anger or embarrassment, though Haymitch is willing to bet it's the latter.

"I'll just face towards the wall," she grumbles and turns to do just that.

No more than five minutes pass before Haymitch taps her on the shoulder and tells her to turn around to judge them.

Laid out before her are six small china plates, each with a serving of some delicious looking food. Her mouth waters at the sight, though only two of the dishes look even vaguely familiar. "What are these?"

"The one on the far left is shrimp bruschetta, and the one next to it is steak with wine sauce, then there's creamy mushroom risotto, and a stuffed avocado, and a vegetable calzone, and last, there's the lamb stew," Finnick explains happily, pointing to each dish in turn.

"Well go on. Try them and tell us who won," Haymitch grunts after a minute of watching her eye the food hungrily.

She shoots him an annoyed look but obediently steps forward and picks up the plate of shrimp bruschetta. The small piece of toast with its creamy topping is probably the best thing Katniss has ever put in her mouth, and she nearly moans at the taste. After that first bite, the new victor quickly devours the rest of the delectable treats, savoring every mouthful.

Haymitch is right. The food almost makes the trip to the Capitol worth it. He'd been referring to the alcohol when he'd said that, but Katniss thinks the food must be just as deserving of such praise.

"So? Who wins?" Finnick presses eagerly.

Katniss stares at the now empty chinaware, having trouble deciding, before slowly pointing to the plates that had held the shrimp bruschetta, mushroom risotto, and lamb stew. Though everything was delightful, Katniss thinks the lamb stew is still her favorite.

"Yes! I am a victor among victors!" Finnick crows.

"Which were yours?" she asks.

"The shrimp bruschetta, creamy mushroom risotto, and stuffed avocado," he responds, throwing a triumphant look at Haymitch.

"Ya ya, very impressive," Haymitch grumbles, mock glaring at Katniss.

She'd answered honestly, unsure who had picked which item, but she had been hoping that Haymitch would win so that she could avoid being pulled out onto the dance floor. She gives him an unsympathetic shrug, and he rolls his eyes before smiling and finishing off his last glass of champagne.

"Well I suppose I've spent enough time here for Effie to stay off my case. Have fun dancing Katniss," he taunts, before making a beeline for the exit.

Katniss watches her mentor's retreating back for a moment, then turns to see Finnick smiling at her smugly.

"May I have this dance?" he requests, giving her a small, teasing bow.

"I suppose I did like your food," she agrees and takes his outstretched hand.

Finnick pulls her into position at the edge of the dance floor, avoiding the center where the more talented and experienced dancers twirl through elaborate steps. The longer Katniss watches them, the tenser and more self-conscious she becomes.

"Relax Girl-on-Fire. It's not nearly as difficult as those people are making it look." At her disbelieving look, he persists, "Most of the dances have really simple basic steps. All of those dancers are just adding extras to show off.

"See, like this dance that's playing right now. It's just two steps forward, then two steps back. I'll spin you on every third step back," he explains as he moves her through the paces.

They continue in this manner for another two songs, Finnick's patient coaching the only words that pass between them, and eventually Katniss begins to feel less awkward.

"Who taught you how to dance?" she asks, breaking the silence.

"Mags, my mentor," he responds. At her surprised expression, he grins and elaborates, "During my post-Games party, this old hag of a woman dragged me into the center of the dance floor. Wouldn't take no for an answer, even though I told her I didn't know how to dance. The lady just couldn't believe that I was telling the truth.

"Surely, even you poor, uneducated people from the districts must know how to _dance_!" Finnick mimics the woman's soprano in a scarily accurate Capitol accent, and Katniss fights to suppress her mirth.

"Of course, I completely embarrassed myself. I accidently knocked the lady flat on her butt, and it was like dominos, everyone falling down around us, and there I was still standing in the middle." Even two years later, the memory is still apparently enough to make Finnick blush, and Katniss feels torn between sympathy and uncontrollable laughter.

"So then Mags had to come and rescue me, and she spent the next month teaching me so I'd never embarrass myself again," he finishes with a dramatic wave of his hand.

There is an unmistakable fondness in Finnick's voice when he talks about his mentor. She sounds lovely, and Katniss hopes she gets to meet her sometime soon.

"Never embarrass yourself again, huh?" Katniss probes, hoping he will entertain her with another story.

"Nope, never." She raises a dubious eyebrow, and Finnick declares, "That's my story, and I'm sticking to it."

They lapse into silence for a moment, and Katniss looks around the ballroom, for the first time noticing that the crowd is finally beginning to thin. Hopefully that means she can leave soon. As nice as Finnick has been to her, Katniss is ready to be away from this crowd.

Suddenly Finnick's face lights up, and he leans in to whisper in Katniss's ear, "Look to your left. See that woman in the pink and red striped dress?"

Spotting her, Katniss nods and whispers back, "Yes. What about her?"

"She tried to gift me a monkey last month."

"A monkey?" Katniss asks flatly, unsure if Finnick is just making this up. Who would randomly give someone a monkey?

"Ya, a monkey. A cute little baby spider monkey. It was adorable. I didn't want it, of course. I don't exactly have anywhere to keep a pet monkey, but try telling her that! She just kept—"

"Mr. Odair," the smooth voice of President Snow interrupts, "you don't mind if I cut in, do you?"

Finnick whirls around to face the President, and all of the color drains from his face. "Of…of course not sir," he responds nervously. He turns back to look at Katniss and gives her a strained smile. "I'll talk to you later Katniss."

Snow reaches out and pulls her into the twirling crowd smoothly. "I see Mr. Odair has been teaching you how to dance." He spins her in synch with the rest of the dancers before pulling her back to him and saying, "It will be a good skill for you to have in the future."

"How so?" she inquires. She can't imagine she'll have much use for the ability once she gets back to District Twelve.

He smiles at her in an almost indulgent manner. "You are a very popular victor. I imagine that you will be receiving many invitations to social events in the future. Everyone wants the pleasure of your company, and it would be terribly impolite to turn them down."

"Well, I wouldn't want to be rude," she answers carefully, unsure where this conversation is headed.

"No, rudeness is highly unacceptable. You most certainly will not want to disappoint your fans and supporters."

"No sir, I wouldn't. They have been very kind to me," she says, hoping this will placate him.

"Indeed. You received some very generous gifts during the games."

Katniss is not sure that giving someone burn balm when they are on the brink of death is especially generous, especially not when the price of the balm would seem like a mere pittance to most of the Capitolites who attended the celebration tonight, but she nods in agreement anyways.

"And the doctors. They certainly did a wonderful job removing all of the scars you acquired. I'm sure your many admirers will be very pleased when the time comes."

Katniss is beginning to get a very uneasy feeling. Considering that most of the scarring was not visible when she was fully clothed, the new victor can't help but to think that the President must be implying that some of these admirers will be seeing her at least partially undressed.

"Yes. The medicine of the Capitol is incredible. I didn't realize that the restorative treatment was used on all of the victors," she tests. She knows that she has seen numerous victors with scarring, but maybe they requested to keep their marks as reminders or something.

President Snow chuckles lowly. "My dear Miss Everdeen, no, the treatment is not used on all of the victors. Only beautiful victors merit such healing. Like I said before, everyone wants the pleasure of your company, and we'd hate to disappoint your benefactors."

Snow smiles sharply. "I hope we understand each other Miss Everdeen."

She gives a slow nod to his statement, hoping that she is mistaken about his meaning. His smile widens, making him look more shark-like than ever, and he says, "Good. I look forward to talking to you again at the end of your victory tour. You've been lovely."

The President raises her slightly trembling hand to his lips and gives it a small kiss before walking away, leaving Katniss standing dazed at the edge of the dance floor.

She has a sinking feeling in her stomach, but denial claws at her throat. Surely Snow can't have been hinting at that. She is being paranoid. She knows she is. She has to be, because she has been through enough already. The world can't be that cruel.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 **Last Chapter Recap:** _Katniss meets Finnick at the post-Games celebration party, and President Snow drops some ominous hints about Katniss's future role in society._

The conversation with President Snow causes an icy pit to form deep in Katniss's stomach. The memory of Snow's vague, sexual hints and overall smug attitude, coupled with the still lingering feeling of his hand gripping her hip, makes her feel like gagging. She knows, deep down, what the president was implying, and the very thought is making her head spin.

She can't even stand to stay in the room when her mother has to strip sick patients, too embarrassed by their exposure. If she can't even manage that, how is she supposed to look at someone when there is intent behind the nudity?

She tries to picture it, some heavily tattooed capital citizen with strangely colored eyes sitting beside her, smiling and touching her, expecting her to respond favorably. Maybe it will be someone currently in this ballroom, one of those dancers dressed to look like fire, or one of those smarmy men that looked at her with greedy eyes and confident smiles.

She's never even kissed anyone before, never wanted anything like a romantic relationship. She doesn't want to get married and have kids, and she most definitely doesn't want to have sex with some disgusting old bastard! She just wants to live alone, hunting to keep food on the table for Prim. "The Hunger Games have a bad habit of ruining life goals," she thinks feverishly.

Katniss can tell her thoughts are rapidly spiraling, her mind fogging as the spinning gets worse, but she can't breathe. She can't stop the sickening images, and she can't breathe.

A woman in a sparkling orange dress careens past her, giggling madly, and Katniss stumbles back, staring with wide-eyed horror as the dancer's dress catches fire. The flames spread rapidly, jumping from dancer to dancer, gaining heat and life, and the stupid Capitolites just keep laughing like they aren't dying.

She can't breathe. She can feel the burning in her lungs, but she can't breathe. She needs to move.

The fire isn't real. It isn't. It can't be. Twirling, dancing flames, creeping closer and closer. She needs to move. And laughter. Cruel, mocking laughter as they killed that little boy with the crooked teeth. And the fire. The fire's closing in around her. It's laughing, calling her name. She needs to move.

"Katniss." It knows she's trapped.

"Katniss." And it's going to consume her!

"Katniss!" Closing in, smoke rising above the flames and clogging her lungs. She can't breathe!

"Katniss!" Finnick is in the sea of fire with her. Smiling Finnick who was teaching her to dance. They can dance with the flames now, though she'd rather dance in the woods, by her father's lake. Smiling Finnick from the district of water. Surely he can put out the fire. Men of water do not burn.

"There we go, that's right; just keep your eyes on me, and breathe with me, in and out. That's good, in and out." His eyes are so green. Green things don't burn.

"Finnick? You're not burning?" she questions. Her voice sounds weak, and very far away. It's as though she's listening to a conversation on the other side of the room, the words somehow rising above the fast, staccato drumbeat of her heart that all of the flames are dancing to.

"No," he murmurs, shaking his head slowly, "Nobody's burning. There's no fire Katniss." He's not burning, and the fire isn't real. The world continues to spin slightly as the dancing couples in their red and yellow outfits begin to come back into focus. She can hear harsh, uneven breaths, and it takes her a moment to realize they are hers.

Katniss has never had a panic attack before, but she imagines that that must be what one feels like.

"I…Can we go somewhere else?" Katniss asks, seeing some of the partygoers' attention turing in her direction. She wants their eyes off of her. "I know I'm supposed to stay, but…but I don't." She stutters to a stop, barely able to hold back the sob that is constricting her throat.

Finnick's expression is set in a concerned frown, and his shoulders are stiff with anxiety. He looks nothing like the cheerful boy she was laughing with before Snow interrupted.

"Ya, let's get out of here," he murmurs, grabbing her hand and ducking through a nearby door that Katniss could have sworn was not there before. He leads her through a maze of narrow hallways, eventually entering a teeming yet eerily quiet kitchen.

High tech digital screens hang from the ceiling displaying a constant stream of orders, and dozens of men and women in white uniforms work diligently preparing food and cleaning used dishes. The regular banging and clanging of stainless steel one would expect in such a busy kitchen is present, but no one is speaking.

A plump brunette woman bursts into the room behind them, almost losing her grip on the empty trays she is carrying when she knocks into Finnick. Placing a steadying hand on a precariously positioned silver platter, Katniss asks, "Are you ok?"

The servant's deep brown eyes widen in surprise and fear before she gives a jerky nod of her head and shuffles away without a word. Noticing Katniss's confusion, Finnick quietly explains, "We're in the servant's quarters Katniss. These are all avoxes; they can't speak."

That would explain the hush. Having no tongues tends to make speech difficult, and they are the only two unmutilated people in this massive room.

"Come on," Finnick says, tugging on her hand, "There's a door that leads to a back alley on the other side of the room."

They move quickly across the kitchen, and soon after they slip out of the dark alley and into the merry stream of less influential Capitol citizens that are celebrating the Games in clubs and bars rather than in mansions. Even out here the hedonism is clearly on display. Stings of lights are strung over the streets; hot air balloons in every color of the rainbow float above the buildings, carrying drunken partiers who seem to feel compelled to hang over the edge of the basket and wave their sparklers around wildly; and fireknife performers dance on the sidewalks, spinning their lit sticks in intricate patterns. Katniss would have found it all exotically beautiful if the celebration had been in honor of anything less tragic.

After nearly half an hour of seemingly aimless wondering, Finnick steers her through an unobtrusive gate, and they find themselves in an expansive garden right smack dab in the center of the Capitol. The normal sounds of a forest are absent, but the noise of the city is muted, and the calm and greenery are like balms to Katniss's soul, allowing her to relax, at least partially, for the first time since her sister's name was pulled out of that bowl.

"What did Snow say to you?" Finick asks suddenly, voice tight with nervousness.

Katniss stares at him for a long, silent moment before deciding that she needs answers, and Finnick is likely one of her best bets as far as a clear confirmation or denial is concerned. Despite this determination, she finds the words chokingly difficult to verbalize. "He…he made insinuations. I'm not sure, but I, well, I think," she stops, suddenly unable to continue.

"About sex, right?" Finnick asks bluntly.

"Yes," she nearly whispers in confirmation. "And—"

"And about selling you," he finishes for her, a grim frown marring his face. "It doesn't really surprise me he broached the topic with you so soon. Apparently, that's how it always works with the pretty victors."

There is a bitter, angry note to Finnick's words. Katniss gives him a questioning look, wanting to know if he is including himself in that assessment but not wanting to pry.

"Ya, me too. Most victors get sold at least once; beauty's in the eye of the beholder and all that." They continue walking in silence as Katniss attempts to digest that fact. Disgusting as all of this is, she can at least understand someone wanting someone as attractive as Finnick, but most victors are not beautiful like him. Case in point, the boy that won last year had a face with a scary likeness to a duck and horrible acne, and the girl who won three years before Finnick may as well have been a boy. Of course, then the games had a string of back-to-back beautiful victors in Gloss, Cashmere, and Finnick.

"I start in a week," Finnick says hoarsely, breaking the contemplative silence.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, feeling a rush of sympathy. "We can't refuse, can we?" She asks, already knowing the answer, but needing to hear it anyways.

Finnick shakes his head. "Not if you have anything left to lose, no."

A long moment passes before she speaks up again. "I've never even kissed anyone before." At his surprised look, she mumbles, "Too busy," with a shrug.

"You've still got time. They can't touch you until you're sixteen—you can lose it to someone from your home."

"I…Is that what you did?"

He grimaces and shakes his head no. "Selfishly, I sorta wish I had."

"Why didn't you?"

"It just never seemed right. I was always being called back to the Capitol for parties, and whenever I was home," he pauses and tilts his head back to stare at the sky before changing tracks, "Normal people want to have relationships. Doesn't really seem like an option for a famous prostitute, does it? And I could never bring myself to ask for it to be a one time thing, not when all those girls seemed to actually like me. And the idea of telling someone what was really going on? I really couldn't make myself do that," he finishes, looking ashamed and embarrassed.

"So you've never?" She asks hesitantly.

"Nope," he answers frustratedly, still staring up at the dark sky. "I'll be a virgin whore." The laugh that follows this statement is not a happy sound.

Katniss watches him run a shaking hand through his hair as she thinks over everything he has told her in this garden. It is true that she most likely still has a year before Snow will sell her body to the highest bidder. She could go back to Twelve and ask Gale to take her virginity. He would do that for her, and she could lose it to someone she cares about, but that wouldn't really be fair to anyone. Gale is her best friend. She can't imagine changing their relationship so drastically. If they had sex, would Gale want more? Would he want something she would never be able to give? He certainly wouldn't be ok with her having sex with other people—not if they started something. It seemed cruel to use her best friend like that.

Then there is Finnick, someone who can understand her circumstances. He couldn't bring himself to use any of the girls from his district; just as she is sure she could never impose on Gale that way. But she wouldn't be using Finnick. They would have a common goal, a common motivation. They would be helping each other.

Reaching her decision, Katniss speaks up. "The only person I could ask in Twelve is my best friend, Gale. I don't think I can do that to him."

Finnick turns to look at her, his brows furrowing as he searches her face. Her look of fierce determination, the same look he remembers seeing cross her face when she was readying herself to face off against her final opponent in the Hunger Games, does not match her words. "So you're not gonna ask him?"

"No," she shakes her head. "I'm asking you."

"You're asking me?" He questions, before repeating the words more slowly as realization dawns. "You're asking me." It's not what he had been after, bringing her out here. Finnick had been fully resigned to having sex for the first time with some creepy older woman who probably couldn't even remember the original color of her own skin. He looks over the girl standing beside him and decides instantly to say yes. Far better to lose his virginity to someone he can see himself becoming good friends with in the future, to someone who won't judge him for needing this, to a fellow victor, to a pretty girl his own age. It's not what he'd been after, but he would be a fool to refuse Katniss's offer.

"Ya. I'd like that," he says, relief lighting up his face as he warms to the idea. "Should, um, should we go back to the Training Center, or," he trails off, looking around at the garden.

"I don't think you're supposed to do it outside, are you?" Katniss asks, laughing nervously. "So ya, back to the Training Center I guess."

Remembering Katniss's confession about never having kissed anyone before, Finnick takes a step closer to her. They're doing this so that they can enjoy sex, guilt free, at least once in their lives, and while he's nervous about the idea, he's also starting to get excited. This is something he had resigned himself to never having. Katniss, on the other hand, can't even seem to look in his direction anymore. This isn't going to be any fun if she can't relax at least a little bit, and as the more experienced partner, Finnick decides it's his job to help her.

Reaching out, he brushes a loose piece of coal black hair back behind her ear, before trailing his fingers down her neck and tugging gently. When she turns her face to look up at him, he grins and takes another step closer, bringing their bodies flush together, faces only inches apart. "Can I kiss you Girl-on-Fire?" he asks, his voice coming out deeper than he had intended.

Katniss stares up at him with wide, grey eyes, a blush rising in her cheeks, and nods minutely. She only just has time to notice as his normally sea green eyes darken to jade before his lips are pressed against hers, soft and warm and gone far too quickly.

Finnick pulls back, searching her face for any sign that he should stop. Seeing none, he grins and pulls her back towards him for a deeper kiss, scratching lightly at the base of her scalp and internally congratulating himself when the action causes her breath to hitch, her lips parting enough for his tongue to slip inside.

He can't help the soft groan that escapes him when she presses closer, running her hands up his chest and into his hair, mimicking his actions. Finnick knows he should quit now. He was just trying to give her a proper kiss before they do anything else, and now he has, but he really doesn't want to stop yet. For someone who has never done this before, Katniss sure does catch on quick.

Eventually though, the need for air forces them to part, and they take a moment to just watch each other, arms still wrapped around one another. Katniss is the first one to take a step back, and Finnick lets her go without a fight, tossing out a casual, "There! Now you've had your first kiss."

Instantly, her olive skin turns bright red, and she glares at him. "And if you're going to give me a second one, it'll be back at the Training Center," she huffs, turning on her heel and stalking towards the entrance to the garden.

Finnick's grin only widens in response. "At least tell me you liked it Kitty-Cat," he calls, jogging to catch up with her.

"It was alright."

"You wound me!" he exclaims with a hand pressed dramatically to his heart. "It was much better than alright! Tell the truth Girl-on-Fire, it was the best kiss you've ever had!"

"It's the only kiss I've ever had," she deadpans.

"So by default, the best," he responds smugly, as though this is some great accomplishment. "Really though, if you had to pick an adjective to describe it, what would it be? Passionate? Heart-stopping? Mind-blowing?"

"Warm," she responds, underplaying how good it had actually felt to be pressed so closely to the other teen.

He shoots her a sly look. "So fiery then. Fiery's good; fiery's _hot_ ," he laughs, and she can't help her reciprocating smile.

"You might be overshooting—"

"Really Katniss? Women swoon at the sight of me. Of course I'm not exaggerating."

She laughs and shakes her head, no good come-backs springing to mind. When Finnick pulls to a stop beside her she realizes that they have arrived back at the Training Center, and some of her humor fades in favor of nerves. "So, your floor or mine?" she asks as they enter the building and make their way towards the glass elevators.

"You haven't switched out of the tribute room yet, have you?" he asks, waiting until she responds with a negative to continue, "Then I guess mine. The mentors' suites are nicer."

"Alright," she nods, pressing the button and sending them up.

The only thing the fourth floor has in common with the twelfth floor is its flair for the dramatic. The chambers on Katniss's floor are dark, with black couches and deep red accents; they look like a sophisticated lair for a vampire. These accommodations, on the other hand, are light and airy. Everything is decorated in creams and soothing blues. A beautiful crystal chandelier dominates the ceiling, and shining mirrored tables are littered about the room. It is an apartment that took its inspiration from water rather than coal.

"This way," Finnick nods his head and leads her down a long hallway and into his bedroom. The first thing Katniss notices when she enters are the blue-tinted glass walls which display a stunning view of the garden that they have just walked from. Then a raised platform holding a massive king sized bed with a white leather headboard and incredibly soft looking silver-blue blankets snags her attention.

Finnick brushes past her and plops ungracefully on the mattress to take his shoes off. Tossing them aside he looks back up at her and smiles. "Come here," he pats the blanket. Squaring her shoulders, Katniss moves to sit beside him and takes off her own shoes, sighing with relief when her feet are freed from the torturous heels.

"Not comfortable?" Finnick nods towards her shoes, smirking.

"Like walking on clouds," she snarks back, and his smirk widens into a full grin.

"I'll be sure to give your compliments to your prep-team."

She rolls her eyes and scoots up to rest against the pillows at the head of the bed. "Tell them I like heels and you die Odair."

"It's ok to show your softer side sometimes Kitty-Cat. They'll be thrilled; my prep-team loves compliments! Lets them know they're appreciated," he informs her mock-sagely and crawls up to lay on his side next to her, propping himself up with one arm.

"Lets them feel appreciated, but ends with me trying to walk around in death-traps."

"True," he mutters distractedly, gaze fixed on Katniss's lips. He glances up, catching and holding her eyes, and her breathe catches in her throat. His eyes are so green, like leaves in the Spring, bright and beautiful. Answering his unspoken question, she leans up and connects their lips in a chaste kiss which he is quick to deepen, nipping at her lower lip to allow him entry.

"Wait," she says, pushing at his shoulders.

"What?"

"I can't get pregnant. So, how…"

"They gave me some shot. You won't," he answers seriously.

"Ok. Ok that's good," Katniss whispers, pulling him towards her again.

She relaxes back into the cushions, enjoying the soft slide of his tongue against hers and the firm grip of his hand on her hip. Remembering their earlier kiss in the garden, she runs her fingers through his bronze hair and scratches gently at his scalp, smugly pleased when he groans softly in response.

Noticing Katniss's self-satisfied expression, Finnick ducks his head to run kisses down her neck, sucking gently on her pulse point and grinning when she arches back with a soft cry. She looks beautiful like this, he thinks, laid out beneath him with her head tossed back in pleasure; he can't help the instinctive jerk of his hips that presses his rapidly growing arousal against her center, and sharp pleasure shoots up both of their spines.

Briefly, they pull apart, panting lightly, before Katniss wraps her legs around Finnick's waste and things rapidly escalate. With fumbling hands they somehow manage to rid each other of clothing, and then Finnick is trailing fingertips between her breasts, along her naked stomach and down between her thighs, rubbing gently before slipping a slightly calloused finger inside.

"Fuck," he growls. She's wet, and warm, and tight, and he aches to be inside her for real. He gives her a moment to get used to one finger before adding a second, and soon after, a third.

"Finnick!" She keens, before gasping, "I'm ready as I'll ever be."

"Oh thank God!" he breathes, voice rough with desire, and quickly lines them up, pressing in as slowly as he can manage.

Katniss's entire body goes taught beneath him at the unexpected stretch, stinging pain replacing her earlier enjoyment. The bruising grip on his shoulders causes Finnick to look up and still.

"You ok?"

"I heard it hurts the first time, but…" she falls silent, biting her lip and squeezing her eyes shut.

"Think it would feel better if you were on top?" He manages to get out, panting with the effort to remain motionless. He knows this is hurting her, but _God_ , he has never wanted to move so much in his life.

"No!" She shakes her head, "Just give me a minute," she bites out through gritted teeth. Soon enough Katniss manages to relax, and when Finnick shifts slightly, brushing something incredible inside of her, she moans.

"Move!" she orders, wanting to feel him press against that spot again, harder.

Finnick obeys eagerly, whining with relief as he is finally allowed to thrust. They rock against each other, finding a rhythm that has both of them rapidly approaching climax. It doesn't take long before he feels that coil tightening low in his groin, and his hips begin to stutter unevenly as he chases his release. Knowing he won't last much longer, Finnick reaches between them and rubs, sending Katniss over the edge. Feeling her muscles tighten around him in a vice like grip, Finnick is quick to follow.

He slips out of her and rolls onto his back, chuckling weakly at her low whine, and they both stare blankly at the ceiling in blissed-out silence.

Eventually, Finnick breaks the quiet. "I can't remember the last time I felt this good. Maybe never."

"I feel all tingly," she replies dazedly.

He huffs out a breathless laugh. "Ya," he sighs, grinning.

"Finnick?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

He is quiet for a long moment before replying, "Ya, me too Kat. Me too." Then he reaches down and drags the blankets up over the two of them, whispering a soft "stay."

And she does, curled up and happy for the first time in this city, she spends the night with a boy she only just met.

 **Note:** _Sorry for the long wait! I'm super busy, so updates will probably continue to be slow, but I do have everything outlined through chapter 20 so... Anyways, hope y'all enjoyed this chapter!_


End file.
